Salvation
by The Emcee
Summary: John had belonged to Jim Moriarty since he was young. For so long, he's wanted to be rid of his master, whether by abandonment or death. John get's his wish, but at what cost? Jim Moriarty/John Watson, Sherlock/John nekoverse AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my second Sherlock story, so please, be gentle. This is set in a nekoverse AU and will contain slash, so if you don't like then don't read. I hope you all enjoy it! R&R.

**Salvation**

John wasn't entirely sure what the hell he had done to make his master so angry, but he knew that he wasn't going to come out of it unscathed. Granted, Moriarty had always been mentally unstable, to say the very least, but he was still a dangerous man. Not the good kind of dangerous man, but the bad kind. The kind who wouldn't think twice about killing someone, whether it be by his own hand or by one of his underlings. And although John's misbehaved and had been punished before, this time, there's a glint in his master's eyes. One that tells John that he'll be lucky if he can even crawl by the time the punishment is over and done with.

As the madman stalks towards him, anger and perverse glee apparent on his face, John wished that he hadn't been one prone to stubbornness or rebellion. He wished that he had been a good neko from the very start of his enslavement to James Moriarty. After all, he had always been good at taking orders, but he had also always been prone to fits of rebellious streaks and the like. Of course, he wouldn't call it rebellion. John would term it along the lines of…purposeful absentmindedness that usually resulted in people believing that he was ignoring them. Yes. That sounded quite right in his book.

"Aw…our little kitten is feeling rowdy today. Aren't you, kitten?"

Moriarty crouched down and looked at him, his eyes piercing through every fiber of his being. Only Moriarty had that effect on him, but John tried his best to never let it show. Doing so would only bring more intrigue from the deranged man and that was something that John most definitely did not want.

"Why won't you speak, kitten? Is it because mean old Sebastian was roughing you up?"

John looked down and did his best to appear submissive. As a neko, he had been forced to submit and obey his whole life. Even though he didn't like it, it kept him alive. Granted, being alive wasn't much of a benefit in his opinion. If he had to choose, he'd pick dying over belonging to a man like Jim Moriarty any day.

"You know that you deserved it, kitten. Nekos who don't obey get hurt. You know that."

The condescending manner in which Moriarty spoke to John made the neko's ears flatten against his head and it made his tail swish back and forth in agitation. More than anything, it was that tone of voice that made agitated him. And, of course, Moriarty knew this just like he knew everything about, well, everything.

"You're going to have to be punished, kitten. However, I think you'll...enjoy this punishment."

John never enjoyed the punishments. Actually, the only thing he ever enjoyed was being beat within an inch of his life. Then, and only then, was he ever on the brink of death, so close that he could practically taste it and that was something that he truly desired. Death was the only thing that would allow him escape from Moriarty. At least, that was how it seemed.

John had been owned by Moriarty since he had been a young kit. He really didn't remember his youth and he didn't know whether or not if that was because he couldn't or just didn't want to. All he knew was that, even after years of being with the insane genius, he was still unpredictable. His moods, his actions, even the things he said, they were so unpredictable. The only constants John had ever had were his punishments. There were some that Moriarty enjoyed greatly, and then there were some that were only tried out once before being discarded. No matter. They were all the same to John; their only purpose was to make him suffer and to bring his master joy and happiness at the sight.

Of course, some of his punishments had been sexual in nature. John had long lost his virginity and he knew that he'd never, ever give into Moriarty, no matter what the Irishman did or said. His mood swings made any experience in the bedroom horrible for John. Every slap or caress all stung the same in John's mind. However, the gentility was worse than the abuse because John knew that Moriarty did it with a mocking intent, which was obvious by his smirk and his laughter when he did it. John always felt so disgusted with himself, even though there really wasn't anything he could do to stop any of it. If he struggled, he'd be punished worse. If he didn't make a sound or move, he'd be punished. If he enjoyed it, he'd be disgusting. There was no safe haven for him.

Moriarty grabbed him by his already too tight collar and dragged him up the stairwell of the mansion. They had been to various places, but they always returned to the mansion. It was a place that John never identified as home and he had never felt comfortable within its walls. His master knew this and used it to his advantage every day.

When they arrived at Moriarty's room, John was shoved inside hard enough that he tripped over his own two feet and fell. His tail curled around his leg and his ears flattened even more, if possible. Moriarty stepped inside, closed the door and locked it before turning to face John. A smirk slowly made its way onto his face and John couldn't help but cringe. This wasn't going to go well at all. He knew that from experience. James Moriarty may look every bit as handsome and dashing in his finely tailored suits, but he was a monster.

"Why do you look so frightened, kitten? You can't be scared of little old Jim Moriarty, can you?"

Moriarty circled him like a predatory would circle its prey. John's tail uncurled itself from around his leg and it began to undulate in an agitated manner. Before he could even blink, a hand had reached out and grabbed his tail in a vise like grip. Without meaning to, John hissed and turned around, pain and anger obvious in his expression. However, he didn't do anything. He couldn't. Moriarty was grinning wickedly at him and John knew that this punishment wasn't going to bode well for him.

"Don't like your tail being pulled, do you? I can't help myself, Johnny boy. Your fur is just so soft. Besides, your tail was annoying me. I already know that you're angry; no need to have your tail speak for you." With a glee filled smirk and a dangerous glint in his eyes, Moriarty pulled John to him by his tail. Pain stemmed up from his tail to the base of his spine and then all over. It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to bring tears to John's eyes.

"Oh, you are most definitely going to enjoy what I'm about to do to you."

A maniacal giggle escape Moriarty as he forced John onto the bed. Rope was tied around the neko's hands and the headboard, making it impossible for any hope of escape. Once John was secured, Moriarty stood up and admired the sight. John's blue eyes, full of fear and dread, couldn't remove themselves from his master. While the sight was terrifying, John knew that taking his eyes off of the man could prove fatal. Perhaps that was why he felt a sudden spark of relief. Perhaps, he thought to himself, this will be the end of him.

Unfortunately, he had been dreadfully wrong.

…

Two weeks had passed after John's last punishment and his wounds were still healing. Some of the milder bruises had already faded while the worst were only just beginning to dissipate. There were wounds that had only just begun to scab over while others were mere scratches and cuts that healed quick enough. But John still couldn't walk properly. His lower back and arse had been beaten badly enough that blood was still seeping from the wounds. Not only that, but the manner in which Moriarty had taken him had been anything but gentle and tender. Rough and harsh and painful, and John was still feeling it. It didn't help that Moriarty would sometimes allow his henchmen to take their frustrations out on John, but such was the life of a neko.

Currently, John was sitting beside Moriarty in the car as they drove through the city. His master had seemed a bit…off for the past few days, but John hadn't been complaining. Sure, he may have been treated as though he was invisible, but he'd rather have that than attention. Attention, when in relation to Jim Moriarty, was never a good thing. Ever.

"You know…I just…don't find you interesting anymore."

John looked up at Moriarty, who was gazing steadily out of the window. His voice was light and casual, but that didn't tell John anything. Hell, his master could have appeared happier than a bug in a rug when he was actually angry beyond all mortal comprehension. But John didn't say anything; he merely gazed at his master for a moment before bowing his head in submission.

"It's not that you're…unattractive, kitten. You're just boring."

So this was it. Moriarty had been carting John around in order to find a secluded spot and would then execute him. Why wouldn't he? He had had John for years. The neko was a liability. John may not know enough to ensure his survival on the streets, but he still. Unless his master released him or gave him away, John was bound to him, owned by him, which meant that the man mad could do whatever he wanted to him. And apparently, he had decided to kill him.

"No offense. That's just the truth of it. Sorry, kitten. I knew how much you loved being with me. I'm not going to lie; I will miss you. Just not enough, you know?" John merely nodded and they sat in silence for the rest of ride.

Finally, they pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse or something. John's heart, which had been pounding in his chest, was practically visible as it beat underneath his skin and tissue. His palms were sweating and he knew that his eyes showed his fear. After wishing for death for so long, he was finally going to have it. After having been put through hell by Moriarty, the mad man was finally going to off him. It was bittersweet in a way; while John knew that he was going to die at the hands of Moriarty, he had no idea it'd be like this.

The car was parked and Moriarty stepped outside, pulling John out by his arm. Holding his arms behind his back, they proceeded to walk towards the empty building, John's heart beating so loudly that he'd be surprised if Moriarty wasn't able to hear it. They entered the building and John looked around as he was ushered further in. There were a few boxes and crates, but other than that, the building was empty save for the dust. Darkness was all around them and John couldn't help but think that it'd be a long time before someone found his body. Suddenly, they came to a stop and John glanced up at his master before looking down. Moriarty turned to him and faked a sigh before he grinned at him.

"It's fitting, isn't it? Me bringing you here. After all, I found you here and now, I'm bringing you back." Before John could reply, Moriarty pulled a gun out of his pocket. His grin turned maddening and John couldn't help but flinch. But he was ready. He had wished for this, after all. Death was better than living with a master such as Moriarty.

But no shot was fired. Confused, John began to lift his head up to see what was going on when his head was struck hard with the gun. Darkness took him over completely and then there was nothing.

…

Hands, long and bony, touched him. The touch was hesitant, almost as they the owner of the hands wasn't sure what to do, but they were warm. After a few seconds, the hesitation was replaced with firm determination and John felt him being roughly shaken. His eyes opened and he hissed softly as a throbbing pain caused him to close his eyes. Something warm and wet matted his hair to his temple and panic sparked within him.

As the hands tried to shake him awake, John tried to think. Why was he here? Hadn't Moriarty shot him? Had he fallen in a puddle of water? Was that why he felt wet? Who the bloody hell was shaking him? Why was he alive? Why did his head hurt like bloody fucking hell?

He tried opening his eyes again and the pain increased, but he refused to bow down to it. John wanted nothing more than to find the answers to his various questions and the only way to do that was to wake up and get up. Besides, he was tired of being shaking and prodded at by bony fingers. Shrugging off the hands as best he could, which didn't work whatsoever, John tried to sit up on his own. His tail curled around his leg and his ears were plastered to his head, the only indication that he felt any sort of pain.

"Really, now. Allow me to help you. You're clearly in no position to sit up by yourself and besides, you're bleeding. Stop trying to shrug me off, damn it." John's ears perked up when he heard _you're bleeding_ coming out of the stranger's mouth. His wide, frightened eyes were suddenly alert and he managed to tear himself away from the stranger and place a few feet between them.

Looking around, John realized that he was still in the warehouse his master had brought him to. It was still dark out, but the light color on the horizon told him that the sun was beginning to rise. As his eyes scanned the building, they fell upon the stranger who had been shaking him. John's eyes took all of him in. The man was at least six foot and some inches, making him taller than John. He looked incredibly skinny, but John didn't see any signs of illness, so he was probably just lean. His hair was dark and curly and he had the most shockingly bright blue-grey eyes John had ever seen. Embarrassed by his staring, John quickly looked down and found the spot where he had been lying. There was blood there, just like the man had told him. So he was bleeding. Great.

John groaned softly and his tail swished back and forth in agitation. He hated this. Being here, alive and with this stranger, made him uncomfortable. Had Moriarty not shot him then? If he hadn't, then why? Why would he just hit him and leave him alive? John was a liability after all and it wasn't like his…master? Former master? Whatever Moriarty was to him now, it just wasn't like him to let liabilities live. Confusion clouded his mind, which was already a jumbled mess. His tail constantly showing his state of anger wasn't helping him much either.

"So…you were his then." John looked up at the man who was staring back at him with such an intense gaze that John almost cringed. Almost. But he didn't. He was getting pissed. He had no idea what was going on, where Moriarty was and this guy wasn't helping the situation at all.

"What…are you talking about?" The throbbing pain stabbed at him as he started speaking and John was reminded that he had been hit on the head. Hard.

"Moriarty and you, obviously. You were his neko. He owned you ever since you were young. Not a new born, but younger than eight. He's never allowed you to leave the grounds of his mansion until now, so that he could dump you here. He didn't kill you. No, he wouldn't kill you. Contrary to popular belief, there _are_ a few things Moriarty cares for and you so happen to be one of them. More so because he found you at such a young age and has had you for years than anything else. So he wouldn't kill you but he would injure you enough to perhaps induce memory loss. However, he miscalculated and didn't hit you hard enough because you still have your memory. I think that sums it all up."

John just stared at him. In the very back of his mind, he was actually quite impressed that the man had known so much. It made John wonder how he did that. However, his head was pounding and he still had no idea who the damn man was, which only aggravated him even more than he already was.

"Who are you?" The man crouched down beside him and reached out to him. His fingers only vaguely brushed against John's temple, but when they did the neko flinched and hissed. It was sore and tender and still bleeding.

"My name's Sherlock Holmes and I'm going to take you home with me." The man, Sherlock, grabbed his hand and forced John to his unsteady legs. Without a moment's notice, Sherlock was pulling John along as they headed outside.

"W-why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you taking me to your home?" They left the abandoned warehouse and continued walking, heading towards whatever destination Sherlock had in mind.

"Because it'd be dull to leave you in the warehouse where Moriarty could find you again. Besides, I want to conduct an experiment and I'll be needing you for that."

John really didn't like the sound of that, but he had little choice. Sherlock wasn't going to let him go and, in all honesty, John didn't want to return to the warehouse. So, with his head bowed down, he followed after the strange man and wondered silently to himself what was going to happen to him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry for taking forever to update. I've been busy with school, work, and my other stories to write this chapter. I'm glad you all liked the first chapter and I hope I don't disappoint you with this one. R&R. Enjoy!

**Salvation**

John had no idea what to expect when he entered Sherlock's flat, but he was sure that it was for the best that he hadn't tried to create a mental picture. When he stepped in after the taller man and looked around, he found that the state of the flat somehow fit Sherlock perfectly. The place was a bit messy with papers and books scattered on the table and the couch. And, if he had to guess, the experiments, or what was left of them, that Sherlock had only vaguely mentioned were stationed at various places throughout what he could see of the flat. He had never seen anything like this, but he found that he wasn't as surprised as he had thought he'd be. Somehow, it all seemed to suit Sherlock just fine. There was only one thing out of place in the entire flat: John.

He already knew that before he stepped foot in the place. Being a neko, there weren't many places that they fit in aside from pet shows, brothels, and the like. Even being privately owned, most nekos were taught that the homes and houses they lived in belonged to their masters and not them. While living with Moriarty, John may have had his own room, but it wasn't exactly _his_ room. That's just how it was. And that's why it puzzled John when Sherlock picked up a few things from one of the chairs and tidied up a bit. What purpose was there? To John, there wasn't one. If he wanted to make a good impression, he's already managed to do so. How could John not be impressed by how much Sherlock knew about him, especially after having known him for only a few minutes, if that?

When Sherlock was finally done, he turned to John and gave him a smile. Granted, at first, John thought it was a rather creepy smile, but, like everything else, it suited the man perfectly. His tail undulated back and forth in mild agitation. Although John was pretty sure that Sherlock wasn't going to hurt him, he had only known him for a little while. How could he be positive that the strange man in front of him wasn't going to beat him and punish him more severely than Moriarty ever did? Regardless of the fact that part of him, a part that John had lost touch with for a while now, trusted Sherlock more than he'd care to admit, John refused to believe that the man was acting purely on good intentions.

"Sit down, will you? I have some questions for you and seeing as how I had to take you to get your injury mended, I figured you could use the chair." His ears twitched and the fur on his tail began to bristle, but John did as he was told. No matter how much he wanted to, John couldn't ignore orders. Obedience had been instilled in him ever since he was found by Moriarty and it was a hard habit to break. So he sat down, his ears twitching and his tail swinging back and forth.

"Moriarty, Jim Moriarty. He was your owner, right?" Sherlock sat down on the couch and started at him. His elbows were resting on his knees and his fingers were laced underneath his chin. Those bright eyes of his were studying John, watching his every movement.

"I suppose." Sherlock's mouth dipped down in a slight frown. John's tail moved a bit faster and he tried not to growl. He supposed that he ought to feel grateful to the man for saving his life, but he would've rather died. Life as a neko was not good, even with owners who spouted nonsense, saying that they'd be nice and kind.

"I know that you belonged to him until just recently. Considering that I found you and that you'll be living with me, you now belong to me. As I've stated already, Moriarty's been your owner since you were a young kit, younger than eight, and has developed a bond with you, however slight it may be. He never allowed you to leave the grounds and only ever let you out of the actual mansion on sunny days, making your experiences with the outside world few and far in between. Moriarty and those who work for him have all used you for sexual release in one form or another. You've never received a kindness from him nor have you met many people who have been kind to you." John knew that he was paler than a ghost. How could Sherlock have figured all of that out? It was bloody brilliant, but a complete mystery and it didn't make John feel any better.

"Normally, I don't interrogate witnesses, but Lestrade didn't want to upset you any further by bringing you into the station. And Moriarty might still have men watching out for you, although that's hardly unlikely as he believes you to be dead." Lestrade…that was the person that Sherlock had been texting during their cab ride to the flat. John knew only because Sherlock had told him when he got a bit annoyed at the neko's constant look of confusion. As if that was John's fault.

"Now tell me, John… Do you know anything about what Jim Moriarty does? Who he sponsors? Where he does his business? Oh, this entire conversation is being recorded. Hope you don't mind." John figured that even if he did mind, it'd be recorded anyway.

"I'm positive that I have no idea what he does or who he sponsors. As you said, he never allowed me to leave the grounds and I was rarely allowed to go outside. So the answer to all of your questions is no." At this, Sherlock's frown deepens.

"You had no idea or guess? No theory or speculation or anything of the sort? You never tried to even attempt to figure out what he was doing or who he was working with?" John's tail began to sway back and forth and his ears began to twitch. He was getting nervous and annoyed and he was starting to wonder if he'd been wrong about possibly trusting the man in front of him.

"No. I was too busy wondering if he would kill me and hoping that he'd just make up his mind and follow through with it. But here I am. Much to the grievance of you and I both." Sherlock watched him some more and a slightly uncomfortable silence fell upon them. John hadn't meant to snap at him, but then again, he had a bad reputation of having a slight rebellious streak. Snapping like that at Moriarty would've gotten him beat within an inch of his life and locked in his room for a week without any meals or anything else. Lord only knew what Sherlock would do to him.

"Interesting… How long did it take you to wish for your death? How many years was it until you finally caved and asked him to kill you? Judging by your lack of self-worth and your indifference to the entire situation, I'm guessing it didn't take you very long to want to die. Perhaps…two, three years at the most." Sherlock was right on the dot. John had a feeling that he was rarely ever wrong about anything.

"Three. Believe it or not, he used to be nicer when he was younger." John hadn't really expected that to come out. It just did, and, much to his relief, Sherlock laughed. Of course, this got John laughing and, together, they had a right good chuckle about it all. While that didn't alleviate all of the anxiety, tension, and nervousness that John felt, it did help tremendously. He was beginning to like Sherlock a little bit more and he was starting to hope that he wasn't a right bastard like Jim Moriarty.

…

Jim wasn't normally a sentimental man. He didn't like to have feelings, be human, or form any sort of attachments. However, it appeared that one had formed right underneath his nose and he didn't even realize it until Sebastian said something. Usually, Jim didn't listen to anyone around him. Why would he? The intelligence he carried within his own mind was far superior in comparison to every single person under his employment, so it was rare for him to actually tune into what Seb was saying. For some reason, however, he had.

_"That neko is a liability."_

The sentence was short, straight to the point, and factual. Although Seb was one who usually got straight to the point, for him to state something so intelligent was a surprise. Jim supposed that Seb was smart for an ordinary person, but he was nowhere near as smart as Jim, that was for sure. But his words managed to crawl inside Jim's mind and got him thinking very intently about John.

As a child of just six, Jim had no idea what would happen when he found the neko abandoned just outside of a warehouse that had long since been forgotten about. Being the brightest student in the classroom, even at the age of six, automatically made Jim an outcast and he had been so elated to find John. Grabbing hold of the neko's hand, Jim dragged him, quite forcibly, back home. Thankfully, he lived nearby because it was exhausting pulling John along, even if the neko was thinner than he was. His mother wasn't too thrilled with the newest addition to the household; she could barely afford to feed Jim and herself, let alone the neko. But Jim was adamant and bound and determined to keep John, so his mother eventually relented. However, she made sure to teach Jim that nekos, although very human, we beneath the status that normal humans had. They were servants and slaves, nothing more and nothing less, and as John belonged to him, Jim could do with him whatever he saw fit.

So whenever Jim got angry or scared or frustrated at anything, he would get on John's case. At first, it was just yelling and shouting. Then it progressed to kicking, pushing, and shoving. Finally, when Jim was older, it progressed to beatings, among other things. Jim just couldn't help himself, though. Growing up with a mother who delved in prostitution, drugs, and alcohol, he was used to hearing, watching, and being the recipient of many shouting matches and beatings himself. The excuse was a piss poor one, but it helped cease Jim's conscious a little until he got to the point where he just did not care. It took hard work to become greater than all of the bumbling idiots around him, and quelling many of his emotions helped him to achieve that goal at long last. Through all of the changed that he went through, John was always there, even if he wanted nothing more than to die. But Jim had no intentions of killing John.

Regardless of what he thought or believed, John was quite attractive and utterly adorable. Jim especially loved it when he got angry and pissed off and almost ran his mouth, yet had enough composure to reign himself. That expression was absolutely priceless and it always made him hot and bothered. His first time had been with John and he knew that it had been John's first as well, and to Jim, that meant that John would only ever truly belong to him. However, that was a double-edged sword. Owning John completely, entirely, was something that Jim relished in and got off on. But if anyone managed to take John from him, they could use the neko to bait and trap him. Although Jim knew that that was highly unlikely, it was still possible, especially when Sherlock Holmes was involved.

So, Jim took Seb's words and gave them considerable thought before deciding that he was right. John was a liability and liabilities needed to be dealt with if Jim was to stay on top. The only problem he had to confront was whether or not he would kill John or just throw him away. Jim usually disposed of liabilities by killing them, but John was different, even if Jim would never admit as much out loud. Besides, they had a history together and Jim would hate to see John disposed of like a commoner. That left abandoning him, but what was there to stop John from tracking Jim down again or leading the police to him? Even with snipers in his arsenal, Jim had already told himself that he wouldn't kill John. Police, yes; John, no, hence his dilemma. He gave a lot of thought into how he'd go about doing things in regards to John.

In the end, Jim decided that the best course of action was to hit John on the head. Hard. Very hard. When they were younger, Jim had hit John so hard on his head that he actually forgot what he was, who he was, and where he was. It had been a most intriguing and hilarious situation until a few days later when it got old and boring. Eventually, John got his memory back, how and why Jim didn't care to know, but he had. With that past event in the forefront of his mind, Jim was able to plan exactly how he'd do the same thing to John again, only this time it would be permanent. And what better place to do it in than the warehouse where Jim had found John? Oh, it was all very bittersweet and almost endearing. So much so that Jim went into a fit of giggles at just the thought of it.

That had been two weeks ago. Following through with the plan and completing the task at hand had been four days ago, and Jim felt…lonely. Well, perhaps not lonely, but he certainly felt different. It hadn't even been a week since he had left John in the warehouse, unconscious and bleeding on the floor, yet he felt a longing for the neko that he had never experienced before. And that's what got him to thinking that he, Jim Moriarty, was attached, very much so, to John. Jim didn't like that, not one bit, and it didn't help that a very small, almost insignificant part of him, liked the thought of having become so attached and even dependent on John. His mind had been in a constant titter over whether or not John was even alive or had managed to die or get himself killed. Thoughts about another person, a woman or, even worse, a man, finding John and taking him home, doing things to him that only Jim was allowed to do.

Thoughts such as that had been plaguing him even worse over the past day or so. If only he could return to the warehouse or just drive around and see if he could find John. Perhaps it wouldn't be too late for him to bring the neko back home, where he actually belonged. But Jim pushed those thoughts aside with a rather violent shove. Getting rid of John had been the best course of action, regardless of what his stupid, idiotic, insignificant emotions tried to tell him otherwise. After all, John was nothing more or less than a liability at this point and liabilities needed to be taken care of.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you all so much for the support. I'm glad you like the story so far! Sorry it's been taking me forever to update this story. Hopefully that'll change. Here's the next chapter! R&R. Enjoy!

**Salvation**

When Sherlock first discovered the unconscious neko in the warehouse, he had no idea what to do. Well, that was a lie; he knew exactly what to do and how to go about doing it. However, he knew immediately upon looking at the small blonde and observing him that he had belonged to Moriarty. Sherlock had the pleasure of briefly meeting the consultant criminal once before for a period of five minutes precisely. In those five minutes, Sherlock was able to deduce that the shorter man didn't leave in the city but outside of it in his own private mansion. It was obvious in the fact that the scent that radiated from his clothes; they smelled fresh and crisp, obviously dried outside and not within the city limits since they didn't smell like population and smoke and soot. Also, there was a tiny bit of mud on Moriarty's shoes. Not a lot but enough that Sherlock could detect it and as there were very few spots in the city that had enough dirt to produce mud, it had to come from elsewhere. Other observations told Sherlock that the criminal wasn't from the city, but he had stored them for use later.

Upon seeing the neko and taking in every detail of him, it was easy for Sherlock to conclude that Moriarty had been his previous owner. His scent, above all else, was what tipped him off. The blonde cat's clothes had the exact same scent that Moriarty did, even if blood had been thrown into the mix. Not only that, but the fact that the neko's fingers and palms weren't as calloused as those that belonged to one who worked outside also relayed to Sherlock that he spent a great deal of time inside. Given who Moriarty was, what he did, and the repercussions he'd face if someone had managed to get a hold of his neko, it was easy to come to the conclusion that the neko had belonged to the consulting criminal.

Seeing the blood and the injury clearly visible on the neko's head, Sherlock decided that waking him up would be best. So that was exactly what he did. And when the neko's eyes opened, wide, obvious frightened and not knowing who Sherlock was, the consulting detective gave a sigh of relief. Inwardly, of course, because Sherlock cared for nothing and no one aside from his work. However, after spending a few minutes with the neko, Sherlock decided that he wasn't as useless and dreadful as Anderson or Donovan. The neko obviously didn't trust him and Sherlock didn't blame him, but he did give his name.

John. It suited him perfectly. He had no idea why, most human emotions escaped his understanding, but he felt a sort of compulsion as he spoke to John. Even more so when he helped the neko out of the warehouse and towards a main road where he knew a he could catch a cab easily. For whatever reason, Sherlock felt…comfortable around John, regardless of the fact that they had only just met and that John had belonged to Moriarty. The cab ride to the clinic was silent and John still didn't trust Sherlock. However, his judgment was impaired by his relationship with his former owner, the injury he sustained, and the fact that Sherlock really hadn't tried to make conversation.

Once they arrived at the clinic and John had received the proper care and treatment, Sherlock hailed another cab and took them to 221 B Baker Street. On the ride to his flat, he texted Lestrade and explained that he had found Moriarty's neko and would be taking him to his own flat. Naturally, the detective inspector had enlisted Sherlock's help in the case against the second most powerful man in the world, Jim Moriarty. As usual, gathering information on the world's only consultant criminal hadn't been too hard for him since he knew where to look. Discovering that Moriarty had a neko hadn't been surprising and upon telling Lestrade about John, before he had actually met the neko of course, the detective wanted to question him. It almost made Sherlock laugh; he could tell immediately that Lestrade had wanted to use the neko as a witness to help with the case.

However, Sherlock hadn't been entirely sure at the time that Moriarty's neko would provide them with sufficient information. Not only that, but there was the possibility that the neko wouldn't even be compliant with giving him any information at all. After all, the people Moriarty employed and sponsored weren't ones who would hand out information about the man like Santa Claus handed out presents at Christmas. Surprisingly, John had proven Sherlock wrong, on a number of things at that.

One, John despised his former owner with every fiber of his being. Although Sherlock knew that nekos weren't often treated with dignity and respect, he theorized that it'd be possible that Moriarty's neko would share some of his likes or hobbies. Upon observing John, the consultant detective realized that that was not the case. In fact, John and Moriarty couldn't have been further apart on the personality spectrum. Two, John honestly had little idea about what Jim Moriarty did or even who the man was. That had to do with John's own ignorance and Moriarty being extremely careful and thorough about what was said and done while the neko was present.

Three, John had been treated poorly by Moriarty and his employees, suffering both physical and sexual abuse. Based on his previous theory that John may have had something in common with Moriarty, Sherlock believed that the criminal would have treated John well. Obviously, that had not been the case, although Moriarty did care somewhat for John, as was evident by the fact that he had left the neko alive. How bad of an imprint the abuse he suffered had left on John's mind was yet to be determined, but Sherlock knew for certain that it would take some time for John to adjust to living with him. As he was the one who found John and had the space and means to care for him, Sherlock automatically decided that John would stay with him. For the most part, John belonged to him now and it was his responsibility to care for the neko, as is stated by the neko laws that had been set in place, however vague and short they may be. Sherlock would freely admit that he wasn't an emotional person. Emotions tied him down and prevented him from reaching sound deduction, which was probably for the best seeing as how Moriarty was the emotional type and had dealt a number of blows to John's body as a result of his volatile nature. Sharing the flat would be a drastic change for John because he'd be left alone to his own devices and wouldn't have to endure a slap in the face for speaking his mind.

And finally, there was one more thing that Sherlock had been wrong about. John may have been annoyed and stressed, but he liked Sherlock for some reason. It was apparent in the way that his eyes lighted up with curiosity and child-like awe whenever Sherlock deduced something about him. Not only that, but his body was beginning to relax. Of course, John only started doing so after they shared a nice laugh about Moriarty being nicer when he was younger, but the neko was still relaxing. All of the tension left the room when John made that little remark and Sherlock couldn't help but think that John wasn't entirely intolerable. He was far more accepting of Sherlock's ability to observe and make deductions than anyone else the consulting detective knew (aside from Mycroft, who didn't really count as a person and therefore could not be considered in the observation). And Sherlock, if he were being completely honest with himself and not in a state of denial, liked John as well.

When the interview ended, Sherlock texted Lestrade to come and pick up the recording. Even if it couldn't actually be used in court, Lestrade and his men could always interview John again and collect the information they needed that way. The atmosphere in the flat was far more comfortable than it had been when Sherlock had begun firing question after question at the blonde. He could tell by the way John's eyes were fighting to stay open and the slouching posture that the neko was tired. Telling John about his own room would probably be the best thing to do at this point. For the time being, it was just the two of them, but Lestrade would be arriving within a few minutes for the recording. Having John there while they were chatting about the case wouldn't be the best idea imaginable. John wasn't one who trusted people easily and he mostly certainly didn't like them. Life as a neko, specifically Moriarty's neko, did that to a person.

"John, if you would like, you may go up to your room and get some rest. Lestrade will be arriving here shortly and it would probably be best if you're not present. You've had a rough day and whatnot. Feel free to use the bath as well, if you want." John shook his head and stretched his body, his shirt lifting up to reveal a small patch of skin. On their own accord, Sherlock's eyes traveled down to the skin that was visible and observed every little scar. When the neko stood up and stumbled a bit, Sherlock quickly stood up and helped to steady the shorter man. He couldn't help but think how odd a reaction that had been; he had never acted like that before, not so automatically. Could it be a result of some instinctual factor? Or was he just alert and attentive? Whatever the reason, it intrigued him and Sherlock found himself wanting to test this new theory.

"Sounds good. I suppose I'll…I'll see you tomorrow, then?" The hesitance in John's voice only strengthened Sherlock's belief that Moriarty had had an iron grip on every little thing that neko did and maybe even said.

"Yes. Wake whenever you want. Come down whenever you want and so on and so forth. You may be my neko now, John, but I've no intention of ordering you about like a slave. Not unless I need your assistance in an experiment and even then I expect that you'll be giving me a piece of your mind." When the neko merely gazed at him with barely concealed confusion, Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"What I'm saying is that you're your own boss, for all intents and purposes. I don't plan on yelling at you or beating you for telling me off whenever you see fit." Perhaps he should have thought everything over before stuff began to spew from his mouth, but Sherlock hated fine print. He had learned from experience that sometimes winging it was the best option.

"If you say so… Just don't forget that you're the one who gave me leeway." John made for the stair case and Sherlock found himself smirking.

"I never forget anything, John." The neko merely waved at him as he ascended the stairs towards his room. Sherlock's smirking widened as he watched the neko, his neko, go. This was going to be very, very interesting.

…

It had been two weeks since John had first arrived at 221 B Baker Street. He would be lying if he said that the change from Moriarty's mansion to Sherlock's flat had been an easy one. But the fact of the matter was that it had been a big change. Not because he had gone from a mansion to a flat; that had nothing to do with it. The change had more to do with the fact that John had gone from Jim Moriarty to Sherlock Holmes.

After being around Sherlock for just two weeks, John could see a few similarities between the two. They were both brilliant in their own right, both somewhat self-absorbed, and they were both consultants of some kind. The list could go on, but for all of their similarities, they were also very different. There were the obvious differences, such as height, eye color, hair, voice, etc. But then there were things that couldn't be see with the naked eye, such as the way that Sherlock addressed John. He spoke to John the same way he spoke to Mrs. Hudson: in a softer, gentler tone than what he normally used. And John liked to think that Sherlock never looked down upon him for being a neko, and if he did, then he didn't show it. Sherlock just allowed John to be himself, and that was both liberating and terrifying.

Moriarty used to always belittle John for being born a neko, a creature who was seen as something less than human and therefore didn't deserve as many rights as humans. He was psychotic and got pleasure from seeing John's battered, bruised body bleeding and crumpled on the floor. Everything he did to John was for the neko's own torture because to see other people suffer was one of Moriarty's greatest pleasures. John was just a slave to be handled how he sat fit. On the other hand, Sherlock had yet to yell at him, threaten to hurt him, or actually hurt him. Actually, there were days when Sherlock didn't talk or wasn't even in the flat. It was different, very different, but a good different. And he was starting to like it and get comfortable living with Sherlock. There was rarely a dull moment, even when Sherlock wasn't talking.

There had been a few surprises, like Mrs. Hudson. When she came into the living area on John's first full day at the flat, the neko jumped in surprise, his tail and ears perked and alert and his fur bristling. Ignoring Sherlock, she took one look at John before gushing at him, her voice slightly frazzled, but pleasant all the same. However, that didn't mean that John was comfortable around her. After years of belonging to Moriarty, it would take some time for John to be completely comfortable and okay with Mrs. Hudson or Sherlock even. And as much as he'd like to, he didn't trust either of them. Probably never would. How could he when he had spent a vast majority of his life under Moriarty's care?

Perhaps someday, he would, but not right now or for a while yet. John had only know Sherlock for two weeks; that was hardly enough time for him to make a judgment call on whether he trusted the man, as brilliant as he was. Mrs. Hudson didn't seem like much of a threat, but when she started telling John about how Sherlock had ensured her husband's death sentence, he changed his mind. Lestrade, a detective inspector that John had only seen twice since moving in with Sherlock, was an unknown. He seemed nice enough and he was a detective inspector, but John didn't know him. Hell, John wasn't even sure if he wanted to get to know him. His thoughts kept leading him down a paranoid, suspicious path that the neko had been accustomed to.

He hated that path with a passion. Moriarty and his henchmen always made him feel as though that path was the only one he could ever take. But he was no longer owned by Moriarty and was therefore no longer at his mercy. Sherlock was his owner now and he had told John that he was his own boss for the most part. John was grateful that Sherlock wasn't like Moriarty, but he was suspicious. His suspicions weren't quelled by his newfound freedom. Rather, they were intensified by it. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Death and freedom were the two things he had always wished for; now that he had one of them, what was he to do? Where was he to go from here?

John had so many questions that he just couldn't answer. It terrified him. He lost sleep over it, something that wasn't helped by the nightmares that plagued him every single night. Much like before with Moriarty, John had no one to go to. Who was he supposed to talk to about these things? Sherlock? No. The man would take one look at him, deduce everything, and would make John feel astounded and worse all at once. Mrs. Hudson? God, no. As friendly as she seemed to be, she was a chatter box and would more than likely tell Sherlock. Yes, the entire situation was just like it had been when John was with Moriarty, only so much more confusing and taxing on his nerves.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: It's been awhile, hasn't it? Sorry to have kept you all waiting. Here's the next chapter. R&R. Enjoy!

**Salvation**

"Do you know that you're right ear twitches whenever you're nervous or uncomfortable?" John's head snapped up and he looked over at Sherlock, who was lying on the couch. His eyes were closed and his arms were folded over his chest, but his voice gave John the impression that he had been observing John for quite some time before he started speaking.

"Most nekos' ears twitch when they're feeling unpleasant emotions. You know that." John picked up his cup and sipped his tea. His tail curled around his leg and a shiver went down his spine.

"True. However, I've noticed that yours in particular twitches twice in a period of five seconds before twitching a third time after ten more seconds have passed. And as I said before, it's always your right ear. Never your left." John stared at Sherlock before he shrugged and returned to his paper, trying not to mind the fact that the man had been watching him.

"Ignoring me won't relieve you of your feelings of nervousness or of being uncomfortable." John tried his best not to sigh.

"I'm not…I'm not ignoring you. I'm reading the paper." John moved onto the next page, making enough noise so that Sherlock would hear.

"You barely speak one word to me unless I speak to you first and you try your best to never look at me. I believe that qualifies as you ignoring me. I don't like being ignored, John. When I'm in the room, I ought to have your full attention." John didn't roll his eyes even though he really wanted to. And he really, really wanted to.

"Sherlock, I already told you-"

"Yes, yes, that you're reading the paper. But you're not always reading the paper whenever we're alone together. Stop lying to me, John. It's far too obvious, to be frank. No wonder Moriarty would beat you for it. You're awful at hiding things." Just like that, the entire atmosphere in the flat changed. John could take Sherlock's jibes and insults, but when he brought Moriarty into the picture and what that mad man did to him, everything changed. Without even bothering to fold up the newspaper, John stood up and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock called after him. John snorted. What did he care what John did or didn't do?

"Piss off, Holmes." Retching the door open, John stepped out of the flat and slammed the door behind him.

The air outside was bitter cold and enveloped him in its all too willing embrace, but John didn't care. He was angry and he wanted, needed, to get away from Sherlock. If he didn't, he might actually punch him in his bloody face for once. There had been a lot of things Sherlock said and did that John found annoying, but the man very rarely ever pissed him off. Except, of course, when he was a heartless bastard to lived up to his reputation of having no feelings whatsoever. How someone could be so insensitive was a complete mystery to John. Perhaps he had thought that it was different with him because he shared a flat with the man and technically belonged to him. Perhaps John had been sorely mistaken.

His feet carried him away from the flat as fast as they could go without breaking into a run and John let them. Cooling his head was what he needed at the moment. Sherlock would leave him alone; it hadn't been the first time John had walked out of the flat while angry and it wouldn't be the last. Soon enough, his feet carried him to the park and he sat down on the park bench. The cold wind continued to blow every so often and after a few minutes John began to curse himself for not taking his jacket with him. John sat there and allowed his thoughts to wander, to go blank, and to come alive again.

He had been in Sherlock's…company for almost three months now. John wished he could say that he had gotten used to the man, but he hadn't. Every day was different. There was always something the man was working on, whether it was a case or an experiment. The only thing John could say for sure was that Sherlock Holmes definitely wasn't an average human being, not by a long shot. At times, there were moments when John liked to think that Sherlock had a heart and feelings; and then there were times when he showed that he could be very harsh and cruel. And John was no exception to that. Of course, he'd be a fool to think otherwise.

John had no idea how long he sat there on that bench, but after a while, he got the funny feeling that he was being watched. Looking around, he couldn't see anyone blatantly watching him, so he did his best to shrug it off. However, that feeling still remained and it made him extremely uncomfortable. The park was pretty much deserted; it was bloody cold outside and anyone in their right mind would prefer to remain indoors instead of venturing outside. That was a nice reprieve though because, being a neko, it gave John the freedom to be left unattended without drawing too much suspicion. With his ears plastered to his blonde hair due to the cold and his tail wrapped around his pants leg, it was hard to tell he was a neko anyway. Well, the tail was a dead give away, but it was kind of hard to see while he sat on the bench.

Fidgeting, John shifted on the bench and stared at the scenery before him. His mind didn't dwell on it though; it was off elsewhere, occasionally thinking about nothing before thinking about something. How long he sat there, John couldn't say. It wasn't until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up that he felt someone behind him. His right ear twitched and he could hear the sound of breathing coming from behind him. With his body tense and his tail flicking in an agitated manner, John forced himself to look over his shoulder at who the hell was standing behind him. He relaxed slightly when he saw that it was just Sherlock. Growling, John faced forward, his ears flat against his head and his tail relaying just how unhappy he was. He heard Sherlock maneuver around the bench and sit down beside him. John scooted a few inches away from him, wanting to be as far from the man as possible even though he was silently relieved that it was Sherlock who had been standing behind him and not someone else.

"John…" Sherlock began and stopped, as though not sure where to go from there. John huffed and glared at the man for a second before turning away from him.

"If you're looking for an apology for me storming out, you can forget it." He wasn't going to apologize for being angry or for slamming the door to the flat. Why should he? It was Sherlock's fault anyway, not John's. From beside him, the man sighed and John's tail twitched.

"No, I…I wasn't…looking for an apology…" Silence overwhelmed them, engulfed them, and the wind blew, making everything seem harsher and colder.

"John, I…I know that I… Emotions escape me, especially those of other people…" Sherlock began and he paused for a moment, as though to gather his thoughts and figure out how to go on. "But I do…I do realize that what I…said offended you. And for that, I…I'm…"

John stared at the man, disbelief apparent on his face, his ears perked up and his tail stilling. Was Sherlock actually trying to apologize? Was the world ending? Who was the man before him and what had he done with the real Sherlock Holmes? But the brutal agony and regret in those bright blue eyes made John certain that the man beside him was the real thing and it was obvious that saying he was sorry wasn't something he was very good at. Sighing, feeling the angry leave his body, John nodded and patted Sherlock's leg comfortingly.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I forgive you." Relief quickly spread across Sherlock's face and he stood up, a small smile on his face. John huffed out a laugh. Honestly, there were times when Sherlock reminded John of a child. Perhaps, in many ways than one, he truly was a child underneath it all. It was too soon to tell. For John, at least.

"Good. I'm glad. Now that we've patched things up, we ought to return to the flat. Someone's been watching you ever since you arrived at the park. Best to get back home before trouble starts." At that, John began to look around, his ears flattened once again to his head and his tail curling around his leg.

"I…I thought that was you." Sherlock looked at him before his eyes roamed elsewhere.

"I watched you for a mere five minutes before I approached you. You've been out here for half an hour, and that doesn't include the time it took you to walk here. Whoever is watching you, us, right now had been doing so since you're arrival here. Now, let's go home, John." Worry and concern flooded John as he walked out of the park with Sherlock and headed back towards the flat.

So, another person aside from Sherlock had been keeping an eye on John, but who? And why? What for? What could John have done to warrant something such as that? Nothing, he hadn't done anything that he could think of that would explain why he was being followed. He wasn't going to get any sleep that night, he could just tell.

…

Sherlock Holmes. That was who owned John now.

Sherlock bloody Holmes, the world's one and only consulting detective and Jim's only equal.

Oh, that was both brilliant and bad. Brilliant, because it would make things interesting, very much so. Bad because Jim hated the idea of anyone having John and that included Sherlock. Luckily for his favorite rival, he had yet to lay a hand on John, his John, his neko. It made perfect sense that Sherlock wouldn't instigate any kind of physical or sexual contact, what with him being the blushing virgin and all, but Jim knew, oh did he know, how much Sherlock wanted John. Even if he didn't realize it yet himself, the signs were there.

It filled him with a rage that bubbled over into maniacal glee. Things were going to get very interesting, especially now that Jim had something else to fight for aside from completely ruining Sherlock Holmes. As the weeks had trickled by since he left John in that warehouse, Jim's mood had worsened. Business had kept him too busy to even bother looking for the neko or to keep tabs on him. But once he had gotten through most of his appointments and consultations, Jim made it a point that John was to be a top priority. Even though Seb didn't care too much for it, Jim hated letting go of what was his and John was his in every way possible. Besides, he had created his empire, him and no one else. Everyone else involved were just the hired help and nothing more, so they had no say in what Jim did or didn't do, on who Jim had killed or kept alive, and on why he did or didn't do things.

Just as his empire belonged to him, John belonged to him. He had ever since Jim had been little and it had been a mistake letting the neko go. And now he was in the hands of Sherlock Holmes, the one man who could threaten to tear down Jim's empire and had the intelligence and will to do so. Things were going to get interesting and bloody and messy. People would die, buildings would be set ablaze, lives would be ruined, and all for the fun of it.

For the fun of it and for one little neko.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: It seriously has been way to freaking long since the last update, hasn't it? I am so sorry I got caught up in other things. Not going to lie, I totally forgot about this story until the other day. I know this won't make up for it, but I hope you all enjoy the chapter anyway. R&R. Enjoy!

**Salvation**

Almost six months had passed since Jim left John in that warehouse. Six months had passed since Sherlock Holmes so conveniently found his neko there. Honestly, Jim shouldn't have been surprised that his greatest rival had found John. More than likely, he had been tailing Jim for quite some time; it was obvious to Jim at least that Sherlock was keeping tabs on him still, even though he had been laying low, planning, plotting.

Over the course of those long, lonely six months – because no one could replace John, because Jim wouldn't touch a whore with a forty foot pole, and because Jim didn't want anyone else but John – the consultant criminal had been keeping a close watch on Sherlock and John. It became obvious after the first two months that his neko trusted Sherlock, even if he hadn't realized that yet himself. Oh, how Jim absolutely _hated _that John trusted Sherlock! A neko should only ever trust their master, and although Jim had left John in that warehouse due to a serious lapse in judgment, one that he blamed Seb for entirely, he still saw the neko as his. Because that's what he was and would forever be: his.

His toy.

His plaything.

His lover.

His neko.

His John!

His! His! His!

But Jim couldn't just barge in and take John. Well, he could and he had thought about doing just that for quite some time now. However, he was well aware that Sherlock was working with Scotland Yard and the government – actually known as Mycroft Holmes, who was definitely not nearly as attractive as Sherlock, but still fun to play with when Jim was in the mood – and that caused problems. Especially when his beloved neko had helped them out somewhat. Jim never flat out told John what he did and he never mentioned the name of a client in front of him, but John knew what he looked like and what his mansion looked like.

Having known that, Jim had quickly packed up and vacated the mansion long before the police decided to raid it. Watching them do so through video feed had been so much fun; Jim had spilled the popcorn when he bounced up too much from giggling and squirming with glee. Seb hadn't been too happy, especially when he had been the one to clean it up. Jim hadn't cared. Now, he lived in a flat and met his clients anywhere and everywhere, blending in with the populace perfectly. After all, no one aside from his neko, Sherlock, Mycroft, and the Yard knew what he looked like. Although incredibly incompetent, the Yard knew well enough that informing the public of a consulting criminal still on the loose would only arouse panic. So only a select few even knew what he looked like.

He had to say that he had a new found respect for John, despite the fact that he wasn't human. Jim never thought the neko would actually tell the police about him and what he looked like. The John he knew and remembered so well and fondly had been a coward who bowed down to Jim's will and took his orders, beatings, and fuckings with a pathetic resignation that had often disgusted Jim. Knowing that John had grown a pair since they parted only made Jim ache for him even more. That and he hated the thought that the Virgin lived so close to John. Not that Jim believed Sherlock would lay a hand on John; on the contrary, he had seen with his own eyes – God bless cameras! – how well his rival treated his pet.

But it was only a matter of time, Jim knew. Through observing the video feed, seeing them in public together, unbeknownst to them of course, and from simply _knowing_ Sherlock and John, they would eventually grow…closer. That would be a problem. John didn't belong to Sherlock and he never would. The only person he would ever truly belong to was Jim, and somewhere deep down, John knew that. He had to. Not even he was that idiotic. As much as Jim, and probably Sherlock since Sherlock is Jim's counterpart, often berated John for being unintelligent, he had to admit that the neko wasn't _that_ stupid. There were things he picked up on, noticed, saw, heard, felt; the only difference between him and Jim and Sherlock, aside from being a neko, was that he didn't know how to analyze what he saw and as thus kept it to himself.

Showing off was not something John did. Unless it was to show off how much he could take before he cried out in pain. Now that was something quite remarkable as John could be quite rebellious and stubborn and difficult. All in the best ways, of course. If Sherlock didn't realize that and revel in it, soak it up, _crave_ it as Jim had, then he was no better than the rest of the population, really. But Jim knew that Sherlock knew how John could be; he had proven as much whenever they had their little fights – all of which amused Jim to no end; thank goodness he kept copies of those. However, John always came back or Sherlock always tried to apologize without actually apologizing. It was heartwarming and touching and pathetic and it angered Jim just as much as it amused him, which was quite a lot actually.

John was his neko, not Sherlock's. They couldn't, wouldn't, be together. Jim would see to that. And he had just the thing that would create a significant enough rift to cause their little fling harm. It was clever, really, and, more importantly, when the deed was done, Jim would dispose of her the same way he had disposed of everyone else he no longer needed or who got in his way….or who he simply didn't like.

The Woman would be the downfall of Sherlock and John's relationship. Of that, Jim was absolutely, positively sure.

…

John did not like Irene Adler.

He didn't like her for two very simple, very childish reasons. They weren't because she was beautiful and witty and almost as smart as Sherlock or because she had a sexual prowess that put even the most skilled prostitute to shame. And it wasn't because she was far more confident and calm and collected than John would ever be in his whole entire life. It was because, for one, she looked down on him for being a neko and, two, because of her interest in Sherlock.

Perhaps he had grown too used to the freedom he had gained since Sherlock had found him in the warehouse, abandoned and alone and injured. Or perhaps it was because whenever he ventured outside, it was almost always with Sherlock and no one ever dared to say or do anything to John when he was there, being as intimidating as he was. Regardless, her attitude she gave him and the look that always crossed her face whenever she looked at John, an expression full of disgust and distaste and smugness, was all John needed to know that she thought he was beneath her.

Granted, most nekos were viewed as slaves and were therefore beneath the status of 'human', but there were enough nekos in the world for John to know that some of them were treated well. Some of the nekos in different countries were even allowed to get jobs and vote and own things. Some nekos were treated like people, like normal humans. And other people accepted them as such. In fact, that was how it was supposed to be in England. But this was Irene Adler, the Woman, someone John knew who was associated with his former master. He knew that because he recognized her voice; he had heard it a handful of times from phone conversations, but he had remembered it well enough. As such, she viewed nekos in the same way that Moriarty had viewed John and she was obvious about it.

John should've been used to it; he should've been used to being seen as scum. However, his six months as Sherlock's neko had brought a newfound hope that maybe, just maybe, not everyone thought that way. And truly, most of the people Sherlock interacted with on a day to day basis were like that. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft all treated Jim just like they would anyone else and they even seemed to like him. Irene had crushed all of that with just one simple look. God, how pathetic was John?

Very pathetic, apparently.

If Irene's view on him wasn't enough, her obvious desire for Sherlock was. She walked into the room without any clothes on for Christ's sake! If she wasn't trying to seduce him, what else was she trying to do? Over the six months John had known him, Sherlock had over ever seemed truly interested, in love with, and devoted to one thing and one thing only: his work. Nothing else seemed to arouse so much excitement and joy out of him. Oh, but the Woman was clever and intelligent and she had made quite the impression on Sherlock is such a short amount of time. And it had hurt John to know that and he didn't know why!

Watching the two of them talk and interact felt like a knife being plunged into his chest repeatedly, twisted painfully, and then pulled out in a deliberately slow manner as to cause as much pain as possible. It made no sense to John why he felt that way. The only feelings he knew and was used and accustomed to were fear, pain, suspicion, confusion, anger, and shame, to name just a few. All in all, they weren't pleasant feelings. Truthfully, the good feelings hadn't started until he had met Sherlock and had begun living with him. The six months they've lived together so far, master and neko, had been the best of John's life. And now, this complete stranger, this…woman, was making John realize that even though Sherlock treated him like a person and seemed to at least care somewhat for him, they would only ever be master and servant in the end.

All of Irene's little remarks and comments about John, none of them very nice or pleasant, went unchallenged. All of her looks of disdains and sneers directed solely at him whenever Sherlock seemed fascinating by her weren't pointed out. John had a feeling that had Sherlock not been present, Irene would've said something incredibly degrading to him. While she never addressed him directly, everything she said about him to Sherlock was heard nonetheless. And Sherlock's utter lack of response or reaction to any of it only served to prove to John that, when it came down to it, Sherlock didn't really see John as a person or a friend. If he had, he would've at least said something to get the Woman to stop, but he didn't.

And although that hurt, John still felt incredibly protective and loyal to him for some otherworldly reason. He didn't trust Irene and he didn't trust her alone with Sherlock, not for one measly, little second. And that was why he endured her looks and remarks. Because as much as her insults and derogatory remarks hurt, as much as her looks hurt, as much as her interest in Sherlock and Sherlock's interest in her hurt, John refused to leave him alone with her, especially after she drugged him.

"John," Sherlock said, breaking John out of his thoughts.

He looked up from the laptop and realized that both Sherlock and Irene were staring down at him. As usual, Sherlock was dressed in his normal attire and Irene was clad only in a bathrobe. Just the bathrobe. Nothing else. And she was practically hanging all over Sherlock. John tried not to think about how that made him feel. Honestly, he didn't succeed very well. His tail was flicking back and forth like it usually did when he was irritated and upset and his ears were laying flat against is head, almost entirely hidden by his hair.

"Y-Yeah? Sorry, I was…um…thinking…" John said. Irene's smug look told him that she exactly what he had been thinking about it. That only made him like her less than he already did.

"You haven't eaten for the past few days," Sherlock said, his posture stiff and tense, his blue eyes boring into John's very heart, very soul.

"No, I…I suppose I haven't," John agreed, noting that he had stopped eating when the Woman came into the picture. He had gone far longer without food than this and Sherlock knew that. Besides, why was he even mentioning it?

"Then we need to leave," Sherlock said and stepped away from Irene.

Grabbing his coat, he pulled John up by his arm, his grip hard and firm and possessive. Had John not been used to such a firm grip – such a thing would've been considered a reward when he was with Moriarty – he would've winced and hissed. His tail was certainly showing just how much he appreciated it. Before they left, however, Sherlock paused and John almost tripped and fell over himself. Sherlock's arm, strong and firm, caught him and a rush of heat spread throughout John, tingling him to his very core.

"I expect you gone by the time we return. You have what you came for and you know where my brother is waiting," Sherlock told Irene, his tone cold as ice and just as sharp. John was pleased to see Irene looked shocked and dumbfounded. She had opened her mouth to say something when Sherlock chimed in with a, "Come on, John" before they turned and left the flat.

As they were making their way to whatever restaurant Sherlock wanted to go to, the consulting detective released him and spoke up once again.

"You're an idiot, John," he said. "Why didn't you just tell me that she was affecting you? More importantly, why didn't you just tell her off to begin with? I thought you had a lot more bite to you than that. You've surely never had a problem giving me grief, that's for sure."

John didn't know what to say. So, Sherlock had seen and listened and observed to everything Irene had said and done to him. He didn't know whether he ought to feel relieved or offended. Part of him was relieved, but then another part of him, a far stronger part, just wanted to punch Sherlock in the bloody face. And that part was really, really hard to control right then and there.

"Well, I didn't think it would've been a good idea to say anything, what with the two of you planning your honeymoon and all," John replied, keeping his gaze lowered to the ground. His tail was twitching and he hated it because he knew what Sherlock knew it was twitching. More importantly, he probably knew why.

"Don't absurd, John. I'm already married," Sherlock told him. "The work, remember?"

"Yes, but…exceptions can be made," John said. Sherlock stopped and John stopped beside him. Feeling the intensity of Sherlock's gaze, he finally looked up and met those unnaturally bright eyes. They were so very different from Moriarty's; they were so otherworldly…

"As fascinating and refreshing as her intellect is, John, the Woman cannot replace the work. Nor could she replace you," Sherlock said, his voice firm and holding no doubt. "I would be lost without my neko, John."

And just like that, all of the bad feelings left. John didn't say anything; all he could do was gaze at Sherlock, his eyes wide and his tail and ears stiff and rigid in shock. But when Sherlock smiled at him, he felt himself relax and smile in return. Without another word, they continued on their way, man and neko, side by side.


End file.
